Today’s big question: how the hell does Billy Squier afford an apartment in the San Remo?
Today’s mitigating happiness: People are discovering Sloan (again). Which is nice for Sloan, the stateside version, at least, where they’ve been ignored to the point of considering a breakup around the turn of the 21st century. A concert I caught at Maxwell’s, around or right before then, had them so unhappy-go-lucky that they abruptly stopped the show and announced they would be playing a 30-minute “hooked on classics” medley of their hits, and they did, complete with a disco-drum beat. There was no encore. I was underwhelmed.
But of course, when they feel it, as they did when I saw them in DC around the time of their Twice Removed (1993?) masterpiece, Sloan can deliver one of the best pure rock shows you’ll see. I’m still waiting for the four Kiss-like simultaneous solo albums from their four songwriters.
Today’s rejected cliche: “if it’s too loud, you’re too old,” but I don’t think that can apply to my or even the previous generation, because we’re too used to it sounding too good while loud. It’ll always sound good loud, and until we die. But the true sign that age has arrived? When you begin to deeply enjoy silence for long stretches.